Arba Koklari would be destroyed among Albanians

Simple Albanians have the right to boast about their daughter, Arba Kokalari. But our enthusiasm is not so much, in private, if you consider it as if this fantastic girl were among us.

Say things like they are, my friends, we'd have “We would have cut it down, asphyxiated it.

If she were an economist, even if the economy adviser was, we would have thrown her in a corner, made her an ordinary official, because for her advice, which minister would have been waiting?

If he was a teacher, an idiot school principal would call him one day in his office with a falling plaster and ask him which party he liked? When she said she did not like either and did not take sides, he would insist that she should certainly take sides; What an outright teacher would be surprised by the party director.

If she were a doctor, our dear Arba would be fried with shame when she approached her patient and told him that there was no acne of medicine in the hospital pharmacy, and that even though his clothing was telling him how poor he was, she would still insist that he should buy it out somewhere, right in front of the pharmacy, that God knew how much the Albanian hospital lacked.

If Arba were a politician, as gracious as it is, as are Albanian women in general, the most empanied beings of this society, the first thing she would encounter was “begging -- the rich or refined -- and then looking at her pictures of how she was dressed on that Thursday day when she entered Parliament (the national holiday now), she said that Arba was in a mirror. No one would deal with the brilliant mind of Arba, with its political ideas that could affect the fate of this people, whose minds just run away and walk away from their feet every day. Now the body's starting to disappear. The only thing left is the homeless “ ” and high-wall and closed-door village erections, hiding the most luxury of the ruling thieves (which became over-thirsted for thirty years), villages that have no place in Europe (even though there were over three hundred years).

If Arba were here, he would have asked for one very simple thing: a deep apology for Musine Coallar's horse, but he would never get it.

If Arba were here, he would see how every day the front pages of the newspapers are opened with interviews of dictatorship exhibitors, how he puffed up with pride and thickened the voice of the former lord of the dictatorship as parliament speaker; how the highest representative of the people sees the day for the sun thieves who raised them with his working spirit; how he stripped the people, and applauded them, and voted and highly promoted them that they also spilled some of their youth.

If Arba could see how the state has become, how it is gasmed on citizens in houses and children are poisoned in the morning, and a lady-in-law called the ombudsman does not even know that the people have been poisoned, nor has she opened any issue on the matter. And then see how there's neither court nor institutions, a minister of order who plays ministers at the end of the trade, what the Gargarel state is, where a part of the opposition is both Presidencys and “paque” government and opposition. The opposition speaks fairly of the prime minister daily, but does not say a word about the attempted prime ministers, who have made the Albanian capital and all of Albania immortal.

If Arba could see that he cannot go to the theater, that he is locked up; he cannot go to the movies, that there are only action films sold to friends' cards and dictators; that if he saw the Albanian public television court eating up Albanian money and giving only mediocre programs to sell private programs; or to seek to bring the child down to the palace, he could not have been able because every small square has caught a new palace that daily catches the eyes of Albanians; and that if he had found traffic in Tirana he would have gone out through endless traffic, but that no one has calculated until now, that every small day he has lost the money, he has only caught the Albanian leaders. Let him then appear at the square that makes us so proud of international prices, which has no single night light and no shadow day under the Mediterranean sun.

When Arba comes to Albania, it will do well to avoid as many Albanian politicians as possible who will want a picture of it to plant a tree, or accept a decoration, because it has brightened Albania's name (although not of our generous assistance) when Arba sits down in the European Parliament, thinking of the simple Albanian, who is much but much more European than his politics. The example is Arba herself.

Clear light, name, Arba!